


A Convenient Arrangement

by ladyaugusta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-09-26 03:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17134283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyaugusta/pseuds/ladyaugusta
Summary: AU. Cersei Lannister is a politician running for office. Her campaign manager, Tyrion, thinks that what she needs to improve her image is a husband. And he has the perfect man for the job: self-made millionaire Petyr Baelish. Petyr is new money and wants an aristocratic wife with good connections to bolster his position. It's all very convenient and the marriage will only last a couple of years. If they don't kill each other first.





	1. Chapter 1

“You need to get married,” Tyrion said.

“What are you going on about?” Cersei replied. It was almost five o’ clock but she hadn’t left her office even for a sandwich. She was about to call her assistant when Tyrion breezed in, threatening to give her a headache on an empty stomach. The worst of both worlds.

“The latest polls came in. You’re lagging behind,” Tyrion explained.

“What, one bad poll and you think I must tie the knot?”

“Three polls. And what I’m worried about is that you are consistently losing ground. Right now you’re polling behind Stannis Baratheon and the gods know he’s as interesting as a rock.”

Cersei’s relationship with her younger brother was a lot better these days and she trusted him enough to have Tyrion serve as her campaign manager, a task he took to beautifully, but just then Cersei considered slapping him. Instead, she snatched the tablet he was holding between his hands and frowned as she studied the graphs on the screen. She looked at the next graph. And the next.

“I am a perfectly good member of parliament. I was the leader of the committee—“

“Yes, yes,” Tyrion said. “No one can deny those accomplishments, but this is what you are up against.”

Tyrion held up the latest issue of _Westeros Weekly_ , which he conveniently carried under his arm. The cover showed Eddard Stark and his family, smiling for the camera. Cersei didn’t know what disgusted her more: the fact that Catelyn Stark was holding a tray of cookies in her hands or the matching sweater vests the boys wore. Was there a more saccharine group of people around? It was like swallowing a gallon of syrup and choking on it.

“I’m running against a man who doesn’t know the meaning of the word vasectomy. Really, who on Earth has five kids these days? He gets to be prime minister, you know he’s removing the new module on sex education from textbooks,” Cersei said, tapping a perfectly manicured nail against the painful plastic smile of Eddard Stark. She tossed the magazine on her desk. “It’s irresponsible, that’s what it is.”

“Cersei, you can’t be the first woman prime minister of Westeros _and_ the first unmarried prime minister at the same time. It’s too much. And you have all those old scandals with the tabloids.”

“What scandals?”

“That picture of you kissing Jaime on the lips after a gala? Remember that?”

Cersei rolled her eyes. Yes, she remembered it. She also remembered that the Targaryen family tree was more than a wee bit inbred, so she didn’t see why that stunt had to be the thing everyone remembered about her. “I was being rebellious! I was also seventeen!”

“Rebellious is stealing a car. That was… I mean, I’m not sure what _that_ was. He wore your toenails in a little glass bottle around his neck.”

“So Jaime and I had a few codependency issues,” Cersei said throwing her hands in the air. “But these days we have very sensible boundaries. Plus he’s dating that giant woman and she’s a soldier. It has to count for something that my future sister in law is a soldier!”

“It’s still not going to make up for your other scandals. Mainly Robert Baratheon,” Tyrion said as he gingerly took out his e-cigarette.

“He dumped me to go back to his stupid girlfriend!”

“Yes. And you retaliated by releasing a voice mail of him yelling at you and you yelling back.”

“Which should have proven how much of an ass he was.”

“Which branded you as vindictive and spiteful,” Tyrion said as he sat on the couch, glancing at the ceiling. “Then there was that time you called Loras Tyrell a ‘dickless, lying weasel’ during a session in Parliament.”

“And he didn’t even sue for libel, which proves he is in fact a dickless, lying weasel,” Cersei said smugly.

 “Your nicknames include the Wicked Bitch of the West and Lady Cersei Bitch-a-lot.”

“How very original. If I’m so despised then tell me why I’ve completed two turns as a member of parliament, hmm?”

“It’s not the same running for prime minister and you know it. Sure, you’ve got the support of the westerlands, but that still leaves everyone else. Now, I realized this race might be a challenge but I didn’t quite realize how much of a challenge.”

“And you think getting married will magically clear all these hurdles,” Cersei said snapping her fingers and sitting down in front of her brother.

“No. But we’ve concluded our focus group work and the marriage is a big sticking point. Look, with some donations to the right charities, some appearances on the right TV shows, maybe a change of haircut—“

“I’m not cutting my fucking hair, Tyrion,” Cersei said.   

Her brother sighed. “It’s just an option. But the problem is that you need a husband. It would make you more… human-looking if you were actually presumed to be in an affectionate relationship with someone or some thing. And think of the free press a wedding would get us. The interviews you could do! Do you know that Selyse is being interviewed for _King’s Landing Home Journal_? It’s a piece on the ‘modern woman.’”

“I would ace a piece like that,” Cersei grumbled. She would definitely look better on the cover; the gods knew Selyse wasn’t the least bit photogenic. “Well. Don’t keep me in suspense. Exactly who do you want me to marry? I imagine you have a dossier with several candidates at the ready.”

“I’ve got one man,” Tyrion said raising a finger.

“One.”

“Most men your age with the right credentials are taken, Cersei.”

“Is that a dig at my expense? Merely because I have standards?”

“Well, you know, it gets a little harder—“

“I’m thirty-seven, not a hundred.”

 _With a great figure at thirty-seven, to boot_ , she thought angrily.

“I realize that.”

 “Well, who is this _one_ candidate?”

“Petyr Baelish.”

Cersei blinked. “Isn’t he a dragoncoin millionaire?”

“He trades in electronic currencies but also has investments in social media. He’s been named one of the Top 40 Under 40 Entrepreneurs. He’s single, has very good press in the tech world, and most of all he is willing to have a quick wedding,” Tyrion said, helpfully counting the man’s accomplishment with one hand. “If we do it before the end of the month that would give you eight whole months before election day. It would be a convenient arrangement, for the both of you.”

Cersei stared at her brother and he stared back at her.

“The press would be surprised to know I’m getting married. Will they buy it as genuine?”

“We’ll say you are both very private people and have chosen to keep the lid on your relationship. I’ll also release some ‘candid’ shots of you together supposedly documenting your relationship prior to this surprise wedding.”

“Could I arrange a convenient divorce after the election?”

“We’ll time it right. A year into your government.”

“I would have to meet him first,” Cersei said slowly and she took out her phone. “He could be a psycho with mommy issues for all I know. Let me see what my calendar—”

“I scheduled him for nine tonight. Drinks at _The Bawdy Badger_.”

Cersei looked at her cellphone and realized this was indeed the case. Her calendar read “Bawdy Badger, 9 pm. P. Baelish.” Tyrion had walked into her office knowing what her answer would be all along. Sometimes she really, really hated her little brother.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei meets Petyr Baelish.

Cersei marched into the bar at exactly 9pm and was glad to see her date had arrived. She was punctual and hated waiting. That had been one of Robert’s most annoying traits: his inability to keep to a schedule. There were other drawbacks, of course, including but not limited to the constant cheating and the drinking.

It was really unfair, when you thought about it. A man could be old, ugly and lack a personality, yet he could still be considered ‘quite a catch,’ but an attractive woman like Cersei was seen as a bit over the hill.

“Cersei Lannister,” she said when she reached the table, extending her hand towards the unremarkable-looking man, with a little of gray on his temples, wearing a turtleneck and a black jacket. On his lapel he had a silver pin with a bird of some sort.

“Petyr Baelish.”

He shook her hand but didn’t stand up to greet her, which irritated Cersei. On the other hand, he was dressed properly. Since he sold cryptocurrencies and was in the tech world she had half-expected to meet a greasy man in a t-shirt with bits of potato chips adhered to his body. A man-child. She’d handled her share of those.  At least he knew the meaning of the word semi-formal.

Cersei sat down, pausing to glance around her. This was definitely Tyrion’s kind of bar. Chrome, glass and splashes of paint on the walls. She liked the pubs near the House of Parliament, with their oak paneling and ancient, comfortable chairs.     

“Let me be direct, Mr. Baelish. I have half an hour and there’s much to unpack here. I suppose my brother has explained the situation?” she asked.

“You wish to be married, quickly, for a minimum of two years. This will assist with your image. After all, no prime minister has ever been single. I am willing to play the role of husband and further your political career. Is that succinct enough for you?”

Cersei looked carefully at the man sitting across the table from her. He was smiling, but the smile did not reach his eyes and his tone, though polite, was cut with a certain sarcasm which made her raise an eyebrow at him.

“Yes. Now tell me, Mr. Baelish, why would you want to marry me?”

“I do not _want_ to marry you. I merely find myself in a position to do so.”

“I said I only had half an hour, so I’m not inclined to listen to witty riddles,” Cersei raised a hand and snapped her fingers, attracting the attention of a waitress. “Martini on the rocks.”

“Would you like to look at our food menu? The special tonight—”

“If I wanted to look at the food menu, I’d ask for it,” Cersei replied tersely. “Martini. On the rocks. Plenty of ice.”

The waitress scampered off. Petyr smirked, raising his glass of whiskey to his lips. That was another good sign. Cersei detested those sugary cocktails Tyrion adored, all of them imbued with clever names. And the food… it was a travesty that people nowadays felt the need to stuff a dozen chicken wings down their throat before they got a drink in their hands.

The thought of chicken wings and booze reminded her of Robert and Cersei supressed a shudder.

“Well? You were about to explain exactly how this marriage would benefit you,” she said.

“Oh, the usual. You have great connections and magnificent social cache. Lannister. Now that’s a name. It’s up there with the Baratheons, Starks and Targaryens of the world.”

“I imagine you’ll want to hyphenate your name.”

“Baelish-Lannister? It does have a pretty ring to it. But what I really want is a title and a castle.”

“A title and a castle?” Cersei said scoffing. “You think I have a spare one in my purse?”

“When someone who is not a member of the gentry marries into a high-ranking noble family they are normally invested with a title.”

“I know about investiture. When _women_ marry into a noble family a title of some sort is created for them for the purpose of goods optics and even then it’s very, very unusual for a commoner to be marrying into a noble family.”

“It’s also very unusual for a woman to be running for the position of prime minister.”

“Oh, so just because we live in a messed up, sexist society I’m supposed to… to what? Call you Lord of Happyland and build you a keep?”

“Grant me Harrenhal,” Petyr said taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Harrenhal?” Cersei asked, confused. “It’s just a heap of rocks. If you tried to fix it up it would cost you a fortune!”

“But it does technically belong to the Lannisters.”

“Yes.”

“And so you could give it to me and I’d be Lord of Harrenhal.”

“My father would have to agree to it and the king would have to approve of all this, but yes,” Cersei said cautiously.

“The castle is a bit of a canker sore right now and from what I hear Prince Rhaegar is a very big champion for the restoration and preservation of historical buildings.”

“Rhaegar would be positively giddy and my father detests Harrenhal. Wait. You’re well informed,” Cersei said, frowning.

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I’ve done my homework.”

Cersei wished she’d done hers. Tyrion had prepared a dossier about Petyr Baelish and she’d read it, but now she was thinking she should have asked for more background info. What were his credentials? He’d come from nowhere, really. Full scholarship to King’s Landing University but he didn’t graduate. Then three years later he popped up with some sort of startup, got lucky during the app boom and was currently spinning a modest fortune into some serious business.  But those were just facts. Who the hell was this guy?

“What else?” she asked.

“The rest are smaller things. Entry into the Red Keep, for one. Access to your connections for another.”

The Red Keep was the most exclusive association in town. Supposedly a social club with tennis and croquet lawns, a pool, fitness facilities, a large ballroom and a restaurant, it was really the locus of power in the city. Here, the most exclusive families gathered together. A pedigree was of utmost importance to gain access to this hallowed space. Clearly, Petyr Baelish lacked that.

Cersei smiled, feeling a bit smug about her naturally superior position in relation to this man. “You wouldn’t get any alimony, I want to emphasise that,” she said.

“I don’t need it. The title, the castle and my name in the guest list at the Red Keep should be sufficient.”

“You do understand what it means, don’t you? Being my husband. I want many pretty pictures of you smiling and any statement you make to the press has to be vetoed by my campaign manager. And the divorce, when it happens, will be completely amicable.”

“I can be very amicable.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “If that was your ridiculous attempt at flirting with me, you can save the one-liners, Baelish. This is strictly a marriage for the cameras. You touch me, I’ll strangle you.”

For the first time during their meeting his masked slipped a little and he seemed concerned. Well, let him! He probably thought he was smooth as butter, but Cersei Lannister was no little girl to be taken in by a pair of hazel eyes and good posture. In fact, the good posture clued her in to this one’s origins. All of the rich boys who’d attended places like Crownlands Prep School were much more relaxed, much more informal. Too wealthy to have bothered learning proper manners, they combined brashness with a lack of discipline. Take Robert Baratheon, for example. Or Cersei’s younger brother.

No, Petyr Baelish had learned his manners from a manual.

Tyrion was trying to get Cersei in bed with a social climber. Figuratively, of course.  

The waitress returned, bearing Cersei’s drink. Cersei carefully raised the glass to her lips and gave the waitress a dismissive shake of the head when the girl began asking if they needed anything else.

“What’s your game, Mr. Baelish?”

“Meaning?”

“Everyone is playing a game. I’m trying to figure out yours. It can’t just be that you want to be called ‘Lord’ and own a castle.”

“You don’t think that’s enough of a reason?”

“No,” Cersei said, consulting her watch. “But I have to take off now.”

“I thought you said you had half an hour.”

She looked at him carefully, from the gray in his hair to the buttons of his jacket. 

Should she accept this man or should she wait for some other candidate? But who? Cersei racked her brains. Oberyn Martell was the right age, but a dedicated bachelor.  She couldn’t stand any of the Freys. The Greyjoys left her unimpressed and besides, they’d been teetering financially for the past few years – she refused to marry a poor idiot. Every other nobleman of her pedigree was married, her political rival or a combination of both.  

Damn Tyrion, but he was right! This man was her best shot if she wanted a quick wedding.      

“I’ve seen enough. My brother will arrange the paperwork. You have yourself a fiancée, Mr. Baelish,” she said, standing up and pushing her chair back. She didn’t bother shaking his hand again.

 


End file.
